The more time I spent with Chase, the more dangerous my thoughts became.
At night, I heard his voice echo in my head. By day, I watched his hands and wondered what they would feel like if he touched me on purpose.
He still called me Summers. Still teased. Still watched me like he was always waiting for something I didn't understand.
And sometimes, I wanted to give it to him.
But I didn't. I couldn't.
Because brothers don't look at you like that.
One evening, I stayed late at school. When I came out, he was leaning against the fence, a cigarette tucked behind his ear, the sky bleeding into twilight behind him.
"You're late," he said.
"You didn't have to come."
He shrugged. "I didn't come for you."
I blinked.
Then he added, "I came to walk you home."
My chest did something stupid.
We walked in silence. Our shoulders brushed once. Neither of us moved away.
When we got to the door, I said, "Thanks."
He nodded.
I hesitated. "Chase?"
He looked at me. Waiting.
But I had no idea what I wanted to say. So I said, "Good night."
And closed the door before I could regret it.